


Collide

by Ghelik



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Cinderella - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Alex is a teenage blogger living in Boston.Chris is an LA actor playing the lead in the film adaptation of a famous fantasy book saga.They live completely different lives. There's no reason why they should even know each other. Chris is Alex's best friend.Alex is Chris' best friend.And there's nothing that could change that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few years ago I read Cinder&Ella by Kelly Oram. It is a Cinderella adaptation with the description: "What would you do if your anonymous Internet best friend turned out to be Hollywood’s hottest celebrity?"
> 
> I love fairy tale adaptations and picked it up with glee. That glee died a fiery death after the first few chapters. I did read the whole thing and I ranted extensively to my little sister about it.   
> With NaNoWriMo coming up, my little sister challenged me to write a better version of it. Same prompt: "a modern retelling of Cinderella, the prince a famous Hollywood star. Online friendship. You can kill only one character."  
> Which was a bummer, since you all know how much I enjoy making characters miserable and killing them off.  
> So here's a romantic story for you.

**Vanity378:** Distract me.

**Esme1996:** What happened?

**Vanity378:** don’t wanna talk about it

**Vanity378** : Just distract me

**Esme1996:** I feel like a stranded whale

**Vanity378:** dehydrated?

**Esme1996:** That 2

**Esme1996:** huge

**Esme1996:** Went to the all u can eat chinese rest downtown

**Esme1996:** with Patrick

**Esme1996:** I can’t move anymore

**Vanity378:** LOL

**Vanity378** : How’s Patrick?

**Esme1996:** He’s super sweet

**Vanity378:** OMG You’re giggling aren’t you?

**Esme1996:** Shut up

**Vanity378:** Patrick & Esme sitting under a tree (8)

**Esme1996:** How old are you?

**Esme1996:** 3?

**Vanity378:** :D

**Esme1996:** So, what happened on your end?

**Emse1996:** Any juicy gossip for me?

**Esme1996:** Any news?

**Vanity378:** There are a few news, yes

There’s a beat before the three dots start jumping again on the bottom of the screen.

**Vanity378:** My mom has cancer

**Esme1996:** oh god. Hang on. I’m calling

**Vanity378:** Don’t. I’m in a very crowded place

**Esme1996:** You’re hiding in your room. I’m calling. Pick up.

 

Vanity picks up after the first ring. His voice is soft and tense. There is no background noise.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice soft and deep, reverberating in the back of his throat. It has always reminded her – weirdly- of a purring cat.

“Hey. How are you doing?”

“Fine, I guess. I don’t really want to talk about it. I don’t know why I’ve told you.”

She smiles sadly, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling of her tiny room. There is a small crack zigzagging in the white plaster.

“You told me because I am your friend. How’s your mom?“

“She shrugged and said: ‘It’s ok, honey, there’s nothing to worry about.’”

“That’s probably because your mom is a strong ass woman and will kick cancer in the metaphorical balls. You’ll see.”

He chuckles. It’s a dark sound that she’s always found unfairly hot. It’s also probably why he’s landed so many roles as the typical teenage bad boy stereotype in teen dramas.

“I hate this. She didn’t tell me until this morning, and I am leaving again tomorrow, and I won’t be able to be here for her. And we all know that even if he were here, my dad wouldn’t do any good anyway, so…”

Alex licks her lips.

“When will you be back in LA?”

There’s a beat.

“Not until October.” She feels a pang of disappointment. She had been looking forward to seeing her best friend during her summer holidays. “I just came back home for a few days. And she didn’t tell me anything. I only found out because I stumbled upon her talking to her doctor.”

Alex tries to keep her voice light.

“I am sure she didn’t want you getting distracted,” she clears her throat and switches topics. “So, V. Any comments on the shooting so far? How does it feel portraying the most important role in a fantasy franchise since Harry Potter?”

There’s another beat and then a very explicit curse that makes her smile, brighter this time.

“Brian is such an asshole! I told him I wanted to tell you myself!”

Alex chuckles at his indignation.

“You know Brian. He’s the biggest gossip in California. You want to keep something under wraps, don’t tell him. Also, I am very wounded that you didn’t tell me first.”

Chris harrumphs and she can’t help but laugh again.

“I am sworn to secrecy by the studio. Also, I can’t go around divulging information to the press. That would be very unprofessional of me.”

“I am not the press, you ass! I am your best friend.”

“That you are.” She can hear him smiling on the other end of the phone, and her heart does a little flip.

“Anyway. Tell me about what you have shot till now. I want juicy details so that I can win some of the online pols about who will be playing who and stuff.”

“Do I somehow look like Brian?”

“I don’t know; I haven’t seen you in like, forever. “

There is a beat, and his voice drops again when he says, dead serious: “I am sorry I won’t be around this summer.”

“Yeah, me too.”

For a moment all Alex can hear is his soft breathing, eyes traveling up and down the crack on her ceiling. She should probably tell her mom.

“What can you win on these online pols?”

Alex finds herself smiling up at the ceiling. He loves to prank people on the Internet with his fake IDs. Spends what could be considered an unhealthy amount of time is doing just that in between shooting and press conferences.

As hobbies go, it’s a pretty inoffensive one, always keeping his trolling to divulging harmless false information on future projects. He says it keeps his acting skills sharp. Not that he really needs to.

“Absolutely nothing,” she answers cheerfully. “Just online rep. Also, nobody really wants to bet against me, because there are these wild rumors that I have inside knowledge. Still” she stands up and waddles over to the old PC, sitting at her desk overflowing with books, papers, and half-chewed BIC pens, “I can’t believe you got the Vanity role and didn’t tell me!”

The last part being the really unbelievable part: they share everything. Well… nearly everything. There is stuff he doesn’t need to know. It would make their friendship awkward.

“Of course I got the Vanity role. I was born to play Vanity.”

Alex snorts again.

“Yeah: of course. Every time I think about shy, humble, over-kind demons, I picture you and your gigantic ego,” she pauses. “Although, you have roughly the same fighting skills.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. My fighting skills are amazing. Everyone says so.”

“That’s because they’re all brownnosers. I am your only honest friend and know you are terrible in a fight.”

His chuckle sends shivers down her spine all the way to her toes. She clicks aimlessly around the open document on her computer.

“So how are the pols? What do they all think I am playing?”

“There is a lot of wishful thinking about you playing Nanael. But that’s only because your fans have really vivid imaginations about you and Jackson Harther.”

He barks out a laugh.

Jackson Harther was the only actor on the Angel Wars cast who slipped and revealed he had been given the role of the conflicted angel, Manael. It excited a lot of fans and caused a lot of trouble for Jackson Harther since they were all under instructions to keep quiet.

Alex feels a little twinge of disappointment, knowing that V has kept his involvement on the project even from her. Angel Wars is their favorite book series and is also one of the main reasons they became friends in the first place. They met on an Angel Wars fan server, him under his favorite online alias Vanity Grimm and her using her online name Esme. For months they chatted, first on the server about Angel Wars, then privately about other movies and school and whatnot. It wasn’t until after a year of playful banter and her trying to find out if he was or wasn’t some sort of spy, that he finally told her the truth about who he was: Chris Cohen, aka a famous actor she had had a crush on for some time during her early teens. They have been best friends ever since.

“Poor Jackson, got the scolding of the year when he let it slip. My dad gave us all a stern talk-to warning us all about making a peep about our roles and the plot, and whatnot. You know how he is: an utter control-freak.“

V and his father, director Johnathan Cohen never see eye to eye and it’s always a sore spot for the actor so she steers clear of that topic. “But it’s not like it came as much of a surprise to anyone? Jackson’s like…. Sculpted for that broody, extremely cut, dark sort of character. I have dreams about his abs if you know what I mean.”

“You have a very strange way of lifting your friends’ spirits, you know that? It’s not very effective.“

“Oh! Come on! Put Brian on the line, he’ll totally support me on this one.”

There is some rustling and something heavy falling with a loud bang followed by a grumbled _fuck_ on the other end of the line.

“The hell was that?”

“A bookshelf just committed suicide. Fuck.”

Alex's eyes fall on her own overly stuffed bookcase, full of books and movies to the point where the shelves are bent down and only holding up thanks to the books and DVDs on the shelf beneath. The whole structure is a great example of team effort.

“What are you doing with your bookshelf?”

“I was searching for the third book in the Angel Wars Series. I have packed the first and second one already and the fourth is in my hand, but I can’t find the third and I want to take it with me.”

“Come on, you know them all by heart.”

“If I am playing Vanity I’m doing it by the book,” he huffs. “Like, literally.”

“Well, good luck finding that since you lent it to Summer like two years ago.”

He makes an annoyed sound and Alex can picture him all too well: dark hair messed up because he keeps running his hands through it, wire glasses hanging crookedly on the bridge of his nose so that he keeps looking only through one of the lenses, thin mouth pressed into a white line.

Alex misses him.

They haven’t seen each other in person in nearly a year now, and skyping is just not the same. The last picture she has of him she cut from a magazine. It’s a promotional poster from War Children, a surprisingly touching drama set in WWII in which Chris played a young and naïve soldier.

“Well, you. I’ll leave you to your packing.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be here in summer,” he tells her. “I was looking forward to seeing you again,” there is a beat. “I miss you.”

“That only means you’ll have to make it up for me.”

He barks out a laugh.

“You bet I will. Thanks for keeping me busy for a while.”

Alex sighs.

“Everything will be fine, Chris. You’ll see.”

The silence is so long this time that she has to check the display on her phone to make sure he’s still there. Then he sighs: “Talk to you later, Alex,” and hangs up.

Alex remains sitting at her computer for a moment, her phone in hand and her latest review open on her desktop. It’s a sassy critique of Hollywood’s latest romantic comedy Wedding Dinner and she’s itching to publish it already. The movie was terrible and she hasn’t been kind in any way to any of the people involved in it.

Esmeralda, her online persona, has absolutely no qualms in voicing her opinions.

But Chris’ girlfriend, Summer Palmer, plays one of the support characters in the movie and Alex knows that, as soon as the review goes online, Summer will be whining about it to Chris. That woman has no backbone and can’t take a critique to save her life. Alex still isn’t sure why she would ever want to be an actress if she has such thin skin.

The blogger rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. She is on a strict publishing schedule – which is probably the only reason she has been able to maintain enough discipline to keep her a rather successful blog regularly updated – and this week’s post has to come online in the next few hours. Also, the third week of every month is romance week.

She huffs and saves the review to her non-published folder. Since she’s started dating Patrick, she can’t stop binge-watching romantic-comedies. All the fluff and predictability makes the butterflies in her belly flutter, which is why she has a bunch of other reviews already written and waiting to be published. She opens the review of one of the better ones and starts checking for spelling and grammar errors.

It takes no time at all to set up the document and publish it on “Esmeralda’s Corner”.

Alex has always been very glad her dad put his foot down at calling any daughter of his Esmeralda. It’s not like it’s a terrible name, her heroine has always been Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the avatar in her blog is a cartoony version of herself that looks like the iconic Disney character, but with short hair and slightly lighter skin. Even the green gemstone is one of her favorites, trumped only by rubies – because, come on, rubies are awesome. But the fact that she likes stuff called ‘Esmeralda’ doesn’t mean she would like anyone calling her that on a daily basis. She likes Alex way better and her friends at school can’t mess the pronunciation up. Also, Alex cannot be related to any creepy CGI babies, which is always a plus. The only one that calls her ‘Esme’ is Chris, and he gets a pass, because they got used to calling each other by their online names.

Alex likes that ‘Esmeralda’ only comes out when she’s sitting behind her keyboard. It’s easier being outspoken and funny where she cannot feel any judgey eyes silently criticizing her shaved head or her well-worn clothes or the fact that she’s a few shades darker than most of the girls in her class. Patrick keeps telling her that she’s funny and intelligent in person too. But Patrick is her boyfriend. It’s his job to say stuff like that. Like it’s her job to find stuff to compliment him on at his baseball games, even when they both know he sucks at it.

It’s what boyfriends and girlfriends are there for.

Alex started “Esmeralda’s Corner” at fourteen, nearly three years ago. Most of the earlier posts are now safely tucked into the “Embarrassing Archive” section of her blog, where people can have a laugh at her over-the-top gushing, and nearly love-letter-like mooning over some truly awful movies.

The blog is pretty cool, if she does says so herself. It’s divided into two sections: books and movies and features mostly reviews, with the odd interview thrown in here and there. Esmeralda is half-famous and many of her reviews are quoted and acknowledged by bigger blogs and she even gets the sporadic mention in the Boston Post and in a few respectable movie magazines. Which means she gets free books every now and then from editorial houses and invited to movie premieres.

“Alex! I’m home!” calls her mother.

The blogger leans back on her chair looking out through the open door into the hall where her mother is currently hanging her coat and keys. Rosa Reyes is a petite dark-haired woman who walks with quick, purposeful strides and is constantly tinkering with stuff.

“I’ve brought dinner!” she announces disappearing into the kitchen to leave the brown takeaway bag on the counter, “Wash your hands and set up the table!”

Alex scrolls quickly through her uploaded post to make sure the page worked correctly, before crossing the hall to the bathroom. There’s some obscure piece of a motor sitting next to the toilet and somehow a screwdriver has found its way into the glass they put their toothbrushes in. Alex knows better than to touch either.

Her mother is always leaving random tools scattered around their flat, yet no matter what it is or where she’s left it, she always knows exactly where it is and will get a fit if Alex puts them back into their rightful place like the toolbox by the shoe-rack. Not that the toolbox has been by the shoe-rack in over two years, but that’s actually where it should be. Last time she saw it, it had migrated to the cupboard next to the good glassware they only use for Christmas and birthdays.

Rosa Reyes is of the opinion that organized chaos is the clear sign of a bright mind and will allow Alex to have a very messy room if she can prove she can find everything she needs in under five seconds. Which is mostly not the case, so she’s stuck with having to tidy up her room.

Alex sets the table on the rickety kitchen table, because their dining table over in the dining/living room’s corner has been taken over by a big engine Alex is half convinced belongs to a jet plane – even though Rosa says it’s too small to be a jet plane engine – and the arm of a robot that her mother has spent the last seven years building on her spare time. Most of the creepy robot has been banned into Rosa’s room and isn’t allowed out, because Alex kept stumbling over it and it kept scaring the living shit out of her. It’s creepy and reminds Alex of those old-timey porcelain dolls, but bigger and with metal parts sticking out everywhere.

Rosa enters the kitchen while Alex is heating up the Tai food her mother brought from the place next to the garage she works in. She’s changed out of her blue overalls and has scrubbed her hands with that harsh lemon-scented disinfectant soap on the bathroom sink. Beneath the tang of lemon, Rosa always smells like engine oil, grease, and tobacco, sometimes tinged with gasoline. Alex loves that smell.

Rosa kisses her cheek and lets herself falls on one of the stools. Alex brings the plates to the table and they bless the food before eating.

“What have you done at school today?”

That’s the obligatory dinner-table conversation. Rosa asks her everyday without fail what she’s done, about her friends and how they’re all doing at school, what they’ve talked about, if she’s still being responsible with this Patrick-boy, how was work at the small cinema ‘round the corner and how everything’s with her ‘pen-pall’ and expects a detailed report.

Rosa has never been very enthusiastic about Alex’s online persona. She kind of understands that she’s ‘friends’ on Facebook with people she hasn’t met, but dislikes that she keeps long conversations with people she doesn’t know on twitter and other social media. When she discovered that Vanity378 was texting her on Whatsapp Rosa nearly got an aneurysm and threatened to cancel her cell-phone number and get her one of those ancient and immortal chunky Nokia with the tiny green screen and the snake game.

Alex managed to convince her that they were having perfectly normal conversations about movies and books, and spent two months showing those very normal conversations to her mom, for her to finally understand that Vanity378 was only a fan, like Alex. A boy, who lived on the other side of the country and didn’t want to steal her kidneys.

By now Vanity378 has managed to leave the “dangerous maniac that might be a psychotic 40-year-old that wants to kill you” status into “pen-pal” status. Rosa even calls him Chris sometimes, when she’s tired and feeling benevolent. She even accepts that, when Alex is at her father’s house in California, she gets to see “this Chris-person”.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” asks Rosa when Alex stabs at a piece of chicken with more force than intended.

“Nothing, it’s silly.”

Rosa raises her eyebrows at her.

“It’s just. He won’t be in Los Angeles this summer. I was really looking forward to seeing him again. But he will be shooting a movie all summer.”

Rosa clicks her tongue.

Rosa’s cinematic experience encompasses only violent over-the-top so-bad-they’re-funny slasher movies so and explosion-packed action movies, because she likes to guess which engines were used in each car and how the explosions have been made. The rest of the Hollywood world holds no interest for her. So, for Rosa, Chris is just a boy that sometimes plays in movies. Alex likes it that way. If she knew he was a home-schooled, celebrity millions of girls fantasize about, she would probably freak out.

“Maybe he can take a break from his job to come to see you. Where will he be shooting this movie of his?”

Alex shrugs.

The exact locations haven’t been made public either. There are some rumors about some forests in Canada and, Australia would be a good guess since Angel Wars is set mostly in Sidney and San Francisco. If she hadn’t been so bummed by the news that she wouldn’t be seeing him, she would have tried to get the information out of him. She’ll have to text Brian for more info.

“Well,” Rosa pats Alex’s hand with her own cracked and scarred one “maybe they wrap the filming quicker than expected and he’ll surprise you.”

Alex smiles thinly. “Yeah. Maybe.”

After dinner, they settle in front of the TV in the living room to watch CSI.

Rosa is snoring before the team arrives at the crime scene and Alex plays Temple Run on her phone only half listening to the whole investigation.

The reason they watch CSI is a mystery to both of them since Alex hates auto-conclusive cop shows and Rosa is always too tired to watch anything anyway. But it is a rule in the Reyes household to spend an hour a week sharing some quality TV time like ‘every normal American family’. Over the years they’ve tried different shows, but always end up circling back to one of the CSI. They tried watching Game of Thrones but Rosa inevitably fell asleep at the beginning and it bothered Alex to no end to have to explain the whole episode and keep telling her mom who was who and what they had done.

She’s about to beat her own high score at Temple Run when Patrick texts her:

**Patrick Malcolm:** Hey, beautiful

**Patrick Malcolm:** Wat ya doin’?

**Esme1996:** Invested in Oratio’s ongoing investigation.

**Patrick Malcolm:** TF Alex!

**Patrick Malcolm** Oratio is not even on this show.

Alex raises her eyes to the screen.

**Esme1996:**???

**Esme1996:** Oratio is the white haired dude

**Patrick Malcolm:** LOL

**Patrick Malcolm:** NO! THAT’S GRAHAM! LOL!

**Patrick Malcolm** : How are you so bad at watching shows?

**Patrick Malcolm:** you’re a frking blogger

**Patrick Malcolm:** This is like your job

**Esme1996:** I have never reviewed TV

**Esme1996** : only movies and books

**Esme1996:** any reason why you’re criticizing my tv viewing skills?

**Patrick Malcolm:** No just bored

**Patrick Malcolm:** wanna see a funny cat

**Patrick Malcolm:** ??

**Esme1996:** everyone wants to see funny cats

 

They spend the rest of the episode sending each other pictures of pets doing funny stuff. Which for him is much easier since he has two very fat very stupid cats that are constantly falling over themselves and jumping at nothing. Alex has to rely on the Internet to amuse him.

Before going to bed, Alex wakes her mom up, who sleepily wanders into her room, stubbing her toes on the doorjamb, but not on any for the machine parts that litter the floor. If Alex weren’t a little exasperated with the clutter, she would be amazed by that ability.

 

***

 

Alex’s alarm clock goes off at exactly six thirty-seven in the morning. This week it’s a screeching cover of some heavy metal song she despises. It wakes her with a heart attack.

Alex doesn’t have the ability to hear normal soothing alarm clocks. Her brain automatically dismisses any beeping noises and if she tries waking up to the music she does like, she’ll inevitably fall back asleep. So she’s stuck with the blaring heavy metal recommendations she gets from Becca.

She stumbles out of her room and nearly falls on her face when the strange piece of the engine that had been sitting next to the toilet has found its way in front of the door.

“MOM!”

The only good thing about her early morning encounters with pieces of machinery is they’re the most efficient way of fully waking up. Bad thing about it: the constant bruises on her shins and toes. If social services were to see those, they’d think she gets beaten at home or something awful like that.

“Are you ok?” comes the reply from the kitchen where her mom is preparing breakfast.

She shakes her foot and puts it gingerly on the floor.

“Yeah.”

“Just kick it to the side, baby.”

Alex grumbles and pushes the thing against the wall, getting her hands all greasy and gross in the process.

To her mother’s badly hidden disappointment Alex has inherited no interest in any sort of science and has the engineering ability of a drunk raccoon. When she was younger, Rosa would send her to science camps and chess class, but to no avail. She struggles through math and physics and dropped out of chemistry as soon as she had the chance. Biology is the only science she grasps but is mostly average.

Alex climbs out of the shower toweling her short dark hair. Her hair is getting so long it falls into her eyes and gets puffy around her ears. She should give it a trim sometime soon. If it weren’t just one and a half months until summer break, she would shave it off. But she spends summer with her dad in California, and Rick would faint if he saw her with a shaved head. And there is no telling what his bimbo of a wife would do. Probably explode in tears over the loss of her beautiful black locks. The little stepsisters would make un-imaginative, racist and probably very offensive comments on it. Jules would be fine, though. Alex has the suspicion that Jules lives ‘adventures’ vicariously through her. Even though Alex’s life couldn’t be farther from any adventure.

Rosa, on the other hand, is of the opinion that Alex has a right to express herself, however, she likes – preferably with a screwdriver in hand because Rosa will never abandon hope that there’s a little mechanic somewhere inside her daughter- and if that way is wearing spikes and shaving her head. So be it. Her mom was the one to buy Alex an electric shaver in the first place, claiming they were about to save a fortune in hairdressers.

When she closes the door to her building, Patrick’s waiting for her, hands in his jean’s pockets and an easy smile tugging on his soft, full lips.

“Hey there, beautiful.”

He pecks her on the mouth and tucks her into his side, his arm heavy around her shoulders. Alex snuggles against him, content.

Ever since they started dating back in February – on the fifteenth, because he does not believe in Valentine’s Day- Patrick has been at her doorstep every morning. The walk to school is just fifteen minutes and Alex has been doing it alone ever since she was eight. But it’s nice walking with him, not necessarily talking or constantly making out, just enjoying the company – and yeah, sometimes making out on the way until they have to run or miss the first period.

Once they arrive at the school, they part with a long goodbye kiss, since they have most of their classes separately.

Alex finds Becca by the lockers. Her best friend’s just beside her, so she has a perfect view of the calendar Becca has pinned to the inside of the door, where she’s marked the days until summer with a golden sharpie. She’s going on a cruise around Europe with her grandmother and can’t shut up about it. Up until yesterday, Alex wasn’t at all jealous of her.

Becca grin, slamming the metallic door shut and looping her leather clad arm through Alex’s. She’s wearing a green Mohawk and a short black dress beneath a bomber jacket that belonged to Becca’s father back when he was in the military.

Their first period is English with old Mrs. Mansell, who can’t keep the class quiet to save her life and has resigned herself to whisper the lesson for the two or three seats right in front of her. Alex and Becca take their places in the middle, already chatting and keep only half listening throughout the period. Everyone’s too excited or too nervous about next period’s exam to worry about poor Mrs. Mansell and her whispered explanation of some old book they don’t care about.

Alex remembers a time when she actually enjoyed English class. When she thought the world of Mrs. Mansell. By now she’s come to the conclusion her teacher’s dim and what she once believed to be brilliant interpretations are nothing more than regurgitated nonsense.

After a two-hour geography exam, Alex and Becca make their way to the cafeteria for their lunch break. Patrick and Robert are already sitting at their usual table at the back: Patrick playing on his phone and Robert quietly reading a heavy book.

Robert is the latest addition to their group and Alex doesn’t have that much contact with him. His nose is constantly buried inside a book, magazine or comic – Alex cannot remember ever seeing him without some sort of reading material in his hands- his hands always stuffed in fingerless gloves, showing only his bitten fingernails and bloody fingertips. Robert is very quiet, speaking rarely and always softly. He started hanging out with them last year after Patrick defended him from some bullies. And Becca kicked said bullies’ asses.

“Hey, dears!”Becca slides into her place next to Robert, while Alex takes hers by Patrick’s side. He pecks her on the lips and smiles all dopey at her while Becca gags, loudly.

“Oh! Come on, Bec. Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“Why? I’d say it’s the perfect shade of green to go with my nails,” she wags her fingers at Patrick, for him to see the intricate design painted a very ugly neon green.

He snorts and pecks Alex again, just to spite her.

Patrick transferred five years ago when his parents moved from San Francisco to Boston and they became friends almost instantly. Becca and Alex have been friends since elementary school, always playing together and getting in trouble together. Becca used to live right next door to Alex and they often would spend hours on end at each other’s houses, sharing everything, from toys to babysitters.

Alex’s phone buzzes with an incoming message.

**Vanity378:** I hate airports. Remind me again why I do this to myself?

Alex smiles.

Neither Becca nor Patrick know that Vanity378 is, in fact, famous actor Chris Cohen, they think he is just a friend she had met online and that so happens to live in Hollywood – which means she gets to see him only during summer vacation.

She would love to bring these two parts of herself together: her school friends and her online friends are completely different worlds. But Becca would hate Chris Cohen and Patrick judges everything Brian Smith does. And who could blame them? For most of the world, actors are like aliens: living on separate planes of existence, having incomprehensible problems. They are spoiled children with rich people’s problems and everything they could ever want at their fingertips.

Alex though so, too, before meeting Chris and Brian.

Both child-actors, deprived of an actual childhood in favor of fame and fortune.

Chris’ father is a famed director and has been breathing film since the crib. Mr. Cohen had had some sense and had protected him, enough for him to only star in a few movies during his infancy.

Brian, on the other hand, had been discovered at age two and his parents had been siphoning on Brian’s success ever since he was a cute chubby toddler. As a result, Brian never attended a normal school or had friends outside of the cannibalistic world of Hollywood. His life whole has been on display for everyone to see. He could honestly not believe half the things Alex told him about her life and constantly thinks along the lines of the cheesy movie and TV show scripts he’s been enacting all his life.

“You still talking to that guy?” asks Patrick effectively snapping her out of her thoughts.

Brian would hate it if he knew that Alex pities him.

“Yep.”

“Where is he?”

“I am not sure. He won’t disclose that information with me.”

Patrick arches a dark brow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s angry because he didn’t get to tell me a secret he really wanted to tell me.”

“Who told you?”

“His friend SexyRocker69.”

Becca shakes her head and Robert snorts behind his book as the only sign that he’s actually listening to them.

“Are these guys for real?”

“Well, SexyRocker69 keeps changing his nickname. He was BigDaddy6969 for a while.”

Becca scrunches her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

Alex shrugs.

“He has fun.”

“How old is that guy? Like twelve?”

Alex just laughs. He phone buzzes again.

**Vanity378:** I’m dying here

**Vanity378:** This is so boring!

**Esme1996:** Read a book. Some of us have finals

**Vanity378:** I’ve done finals

**Vamity378:** Graduated like 17 times. It’s not that hard

**Esme1996** : …

**Esme1996:** not the same thing

**Vanity378:** Also, you’re not in class

**Vanity378:** Youre probably just making out with your bf

“I like that idea,” Patrick whispers, his breath tickling the shell of her ear.

Alex’s laugh sounds like a giggle, something she’ll deny until her dying breath.

**Esme1996:** Thnx for the tip

**Esme 1996:** Gotta go make out!

**Vanity378** : traitor


	2. Chapter 2

Chris is bored.

Usually, when he’s bored, he texts Alex, but she isn’t answering. Which makes sense since she’s on a completely different hemisphere and probably sleeping.

Her last blog post came online a few hours ago, and he’s already commented on that and shared the link on all his social media. And discussed with a few haters, and trolled some assholes just for the laughs with one of his fake IDs, because he’s mature. He played candy crush until he had no more lives left – which isn’t that much of a feat - and then beat Tetris and got stuck on Bioshock so often he can’t take it anymore.

He doesn’t know what to do and has resorted on lying on his back across his hotel bed, watching the dancing shadows the tree outside his window throws on the ceiling.

Chris hates slow days with a passion. Hates how he has nothing to do and most everyone he likes isn’t available to keep him company. He could go to town, but everyone knows him and he doesn’t feel like smiling and being kind to strangers. He just wants to…

Chris isn’t even sure what he wants he’s too bored.

Last night they did one of the hardest fighting scenes of the whole movie and all his body is sore and a little bruised.

Chris loves doing the fighting sequences, even if his dad is constantly afraid he’ll accidentally destroy his physique, or break something. Which means he’s bullied his lawyer into putting in his contracts that he’ll be doing all but the riskiest of stunts of all his movies. Bobby – his stunt double – has taught him most of the techniques and the hard routines he has to perform every day to stay fit enough to do the stunts.

Yesterdays’ filming ended very late, and after spending ten hours kicking around with heavy-ass broadswords, he feels like he won’t be able to lift his arms ever again.

He’s grateful that he doesn’t need to wear the heavy wings that Jackson and Morrison have to carry around most of the time. Like him, Morrison does most of his stunts himself, which means he’s probably cursing right now, being as sore as Chris, but needing to be on set. On the other hand Jackson shies away from every type of violence even fake choreographed dancelike violence. So yesterday they spent all day with Jackson’s stunt double, Daniel. He is a cool guy, always going on about football and this or that life-threatening extreme sport Chris’s dying to try. If he weren’t so cowardly, he’d totally try most of them.

Back to the problem: he’s tired and bored.

Alex could at least remedy one of those. Brian could, too, but if Alex is sleeping, Brian is probably at a party or having a threesome somewhere.

It takes Chris a few more slow minutes to decide that, if he’s miserable, Brian can be, too.

He spends a moment wiggling on the bed to reach the phone on the nightstand without getting up and taps on his friends’ contact.

Brian answers after ten rings.

“Hi, Chris! Finally down for some phone sex?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Get your head out of the gutter. I am bored.”

“Ok. So have sex. “

Chris winces, and Brian laughs, bright and happy. Maybe he doesn’t have anyone over. Brian is never this relaxed around ‘strangers’ – strangers being most everybody but Chris, Chris’ mother, and Alex.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Chris can practically see him shaking his hand in dismissal of a conversation they’ve had a many times before “How is the movie coming along? Your inner nerd satisfied?”

Chris feels warmth all over his chest, a smile he can’t control spreading on his face.

“It’s so cool! The sets are amazing, and I’ve seen some of Jackson and Marvin’s scenes together, one would never guess they’re not celestial beings that have been bickering for centuries.”

“My god, you are even more of a nerd than your stupid books’ fangirls.”

“Angel Wars is not a stupid book; you’d know that if you ever bothered to read it.”

“Come on: angels travel through light, feeding on the life essence of living beings. Demons battle them because they’re extra-dimensional hippies. Angels and Demons falling randomly in love with extremely hot teenage girls. That is pretentious crap at its finest.”

Chris bristles. Angel Wars has been his favorite saga for years. He reads the first book at least once a year and finds new details every time.

Yes, the synopsis is silly, and the book had been intended for YA, but it somehow made a big impact outside of the young adult community, being praised left and right for its originality, the perfectly constructed world and the poignant anti-war message.

“Like you can talk about pretentious crap.”

“Hey! I know the movies I do are bad. But they pay the bills. And they don’t try to be anything but some escapist fantasy world where everything is rose-tinted and ends with an everlasting love.”

Chris’ harsh remark dies on his lips, and there’s a moment of tense silence in which both actors try very hard not to mention the elephant in the room. As always Brian is the first to recover, clearing his throat.

“So, what are you up to now?”

“I have nothing to do now. Hence I’m calling you.”

“Come on; you are on the other side of the world. You should be having fun!”

“I filmed the worst fighting scene yesterday. I can’t move. Today they’re torturing Summer, Jackson, and Marvin.”

“What about the other two girls, Louisa James, and Bridget Whats-her-name?”

“Bridget Simmons.”

“That’s the one.”

Chris laughs.

Brian knows everything there is to know about everybody. He can remember everything, tucking every little detail into his brain for later use, like some sort of walking Wikipedia. But every now and then he’ll stumble across something he can’t remember to safe his life. Whatever that is, it usually ends up failing miserably. Like Brian can see the future, weeding out everything he won’t need. Over the years Chris has learned to trust his friend’s weird mystic powers, which means Bridget Simmons won’t get very far in Hollywood. It’s a pity, really, because she’s a good actress.

 

“They’re off somewhere. Louisa has probably gone surfing. She’s amazing.”

“I hear she has a new tattoo on her butt-cheek.”

Chris frowns warily.

“Ok.”

“Come on, man! You haven’t checked?”

“I don’t go around checking my co-worker’s butts.”

“Summer might say something else,” and Chris knows he’s wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Summer’s my girlfriend. I am supposed to look at her like that.”

Brian’s laughter seems to fill the room. Chris loves it when he laughs like this: all open and happy. Wishes he’d do it more often.

“Even you have to admit Louisa has a very nice ass.”

Chris rolls his eyes and then smirks. Teasing Brian is one of his favorite pastimes anyway.

“I can tell you her under-bust tattoo is something amazing.”

Brian splutters and coughs for half a minute like he was drinking and it went down the wrong pipe.

“Under-bust tattoo? I want to know everything about that tattoo!” Brian has a huge fetish with inked people that Chris can’t understand.

Chris licks his lips, smile now wide on his lips.

“Well. I’m not sure if it can be called ‘under-bust,’ really since it cups her breasts and then spills all over them. It’s very nicely done.”

Brian is silent for a very long moment.

“You are a very, very lucky bastard and I hate your guts,” Brian says darkly. Chris hears him take a deep breath through the nose. “So, you’re off in paradise with three very nice looking women. Why the hell are you calling my sorry ass?”

“I was feeling homesick. And you’re the closest thing to home I could call.”

Chris has to swallow back the bitter taste of ash that has suddenly settled in the back of his throat. On the other end of the line, Brian shuffles. There is a soft tap, like a bottle clicking against the top of a glass table.

“Went to see your mom the other day. Have you called her?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t want to talk about it, says it will put me off my game.”

Brian chuckles.

“She made me cookies. Well, Roberta made me cookies; your mom just stuffed me with them. She’s looking good. Constantly running around like a headless chicken.”

“Hey! Watch it,” grumbles Chris, but can’t help being relieved that at least Brian’s there.

They might not be related, but Brian’s the closest thing to a brother he’s ever had. The other actor has always been there for him, there when he most needed him. Chris is not proud to admit that it hasn’t always been the same the other way around.

“You know I love your mom more than I love mine. I am glad she’s doing ok.”

“Thank you for looking after her, man.”

There’s a pause.

“You’re not going to break down and cry on me now, are you?”

Chris sniffs, and it might or might not be an act. Brian huffs.

“So, back to you moping like a looser in your room.”

“I am not moping.”

“You are because you don’t know how to have fun without me.”

“Am not. I’m just bored. Entertain me.”

Brian hums like he’s considering.

“What’s in it for me?”

“The knowledge that you’ve done something good for your friends’ wellbeing and that you’ll be rewarded in heaven for it.”

“Booooooring!” he makes a noise of dismissal. “Don’t go around cheating me out of my rewards. Dead is dead, Chris. I want my prizes while I can still enjoy them.”

Chris rolls his eyes.

“What were you doing before I called?”

“I was watching TV. The show is over, now. So thank you, I’ll never know who killed Oscar.”

He frowns.

“Who the hell is Oscar?”

“Oscar is, obviously, the dude that was killed. Pay attention.”

“Yeah, what I meant was: what were you watching?”

“Some Dutch movie. I had nothing better to do.”

“Ah! See? You were bored, too. It’s good that I called. Now you can entertain me and be entertained in the process.”

Brian laughs again, happier and they steer clear of the more “dangerous” topics and end up in an opinionated discussion about cars.

For his eighteenth birthday Chris had gotten himself a very nice Porsche he loves, so much so he uses the plate numbers on most of his online usernames.

Biran’s love for antique cars is a widely known fact about the actor, as is the fact that his father confiscates and dilapidates as much money as his son makes, as quickly as he makes it. Brian has two cars: an antique Mustang he had fallen in love with and a very, _very_ old and battered yellow Beatle. Brian had sold a juicy piece of gossip to get that Mustang without his father ever being the wiser. He loves to drive it down the coast at night when there’s little traffic, and he can race down the curves.

But his most precious possession is the old yellow Beatle. Its origins are a matter of great speculation on the Internet. Chris has seen some convoluted theories online. He loves fans’ ingenuity; he wishes some of those theories were the truth.

“Dude” yawns Brian, “I really should hit the sack. And you should socialize. You can make friends with Louisa’s under-bust tattoo and then introduce me as any good friend would.”

“Must I remind you that I am in a happy relationship with Summer?”

Brian is silent for ten seconds. Chris can practically see his unimpressed stare. He misses his friend.

 _“That_ is a sham, and we all know it.”

Chris huffs.

“Go to bed, Brian.”

Brian hangs up, and Chris is left alone again.

His friend is right, he probably should be making nice with his co-stars. Louisa is a very straightforward and honest woman. This is the first time they work together, but they have met a few times before at parties and random charities. He hasn’t seen any of her scenes yet, but has shared some with her and it’s always fun and easy. Her character, Selene, is badass, tattooed up to her eyebrows and lethal. Real Louisa, is an athlete and a pacifist and has a puppy that looks like a brown mop called Fernando. The only things Louisa and her character do have in common are the tattoos.

He doesn’t know that much about Bridget other than she has a wicked sense of humor and loves football even more than Daniel. She plays’ Jackson’s character’s love interest: a bighearted altruist with memory loss and a secret. That means Chris and her don’t have any scenes together. But he has seen her work in that one drama he keeps forgetting the name of that had him sobbing like a baby for two hours straight.

Chris spends a moment lounging on his bed before rolling up and stepping out of the room to look for his co-stars.

Their rooms are down the hall from his. Louisa is not there, and when he knocks on Bridget’s, she finds her in a Denver Broncos sweatshirt and yoga pants, a spoon in her mouth and a pack of raspberry ice cream in her hand.

She gives him her best “deer in the headlights” impression.

“Chris,” she says with the spoon still in her mouth. “Hi. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anybody. Please don’t tell people about,” she points at her ice cream with the spoon. “I shouldn’t be indulging. But I’m marathoning Disney movies, and Mufasa’s death always gets to me ever since I was a little girl. I don’t know why I keep watching that movie when I know it’ll make me cry. I am rambling. Please make me stop.”

She stuffs her spoon back into her mouth to keep herself quiet, blonde hair framing her red ears.

“Don’t worry about it. I was dying of boredom in my room.”

“Oh!” her smile is bright. “Do you want to watch Disney movies with me? Next one up is Rescuers Down Under, which is fitting, don’t you think?”

Chris pushes his hands in his pockets.

“I’d like that. I haven’t watched Rescuers since I was a kid.”

Bridget steps to the side and closes the door behind him. Her room is a mess, with piles of clothes stacked on every available surface, and a precarious tower of DVDs leaning against the wardrobe. Her room is smaller than his, which means they have to sit on the double bed to watch TV. Bridget just makes an awkward gesture for him to sit on the left side, while she picks another spoon from the drawer on top of the mini-fridge and plops next to him on the right side of the bed, setting the ice cream between them. They watch the ending of the Lion King in companionable silence, and Bridget puts in the Rescuers. She’s silent all through the first ten minutes before she starts a running commentary that has him in stitches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading


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